


My Fair Angel

by handlebarstiedtothestars, WyvernQuill



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, My Fair Lady (1964)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - My Fair Lady, Art, Class Differences, Crowley has daddy issues, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley, Illustrations, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Old Money New Money, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), based on My Fair Lady, except Crowley gets to wear pretty dresses, it all gets a bit Gatsby, more of a South Downs Mansion, who are in love but don't communicate properly, with The Them acting as Eliza, with changing pronouns like the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-03 00:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handlebarstiedtothestars/pseuds/handlebarstiedtothestars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill
Summary: An alternate universe Good Omens story based (loosely) on My Fair Lady (1964). Lord A.Z. Fell and Mr Anthony J. Crowley make a bet with each other as to whether they can pass off four homeless orphans as elite heirs/heiresses at an upcoming high society ball, teaching them to walk, talk and behave like the upper classes. Cue chaos, misunderstandings, arguments and reconciliations! Featuring incredible illustrations by the amazing WyvernQuill who came up with this whole idea in the first place!





	1. Wouldn't It Be Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah essentially blame the GOBB Discord server, and the fact that there is a song in My Fair Lady called "the Ascot Gavotte" - you can probably follow our thought train from there. The amazing WyvernQuill came up with the idea and has done some incredible illustrations to go along with my subsequent ramblings. Thank you to WyvernQuill obviously for the illustrations but also for the constant feedback and ideas throughout the process! And a huge thank you to my loveliest of beta readers Starknight for critiquing while drawing hearts in the margins <3 Well readers, whether you're a My Fair Lady fan or you've never seen it, I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord A.Z. Fell and Mr Anthony J Crowley bicker about the class divide following a performance of Cinderella. Spotting a band of orphans on the street (the Them), they discuss whether it would be possible for them to, theoretically, work their way up in society.

Aziraphale stepped out of the theatre, donning his top hat and taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Covent Garden could almost be described as beautiful at this time of night, the soft murmurs of the exiting ballet audience echoing off the building facades a sharp contrast to the usual raucous assembly of shoppers, ware sellers and petty thieves. The crisp air held a still quality, and its steady sharpness seemed to make the stars twinkle more. Lord A.Z. Fell – Aziraphale to his friends and ‘angel’ to one particular friend – was the type of Old Money man who appreciated such magical moments as these, just as much as he appreciated a good book or a glass of red wine.

“That was rubbish,” said Crowley, breaking the spell of the evening as he stepped up next to Aziraphale and brushed down his hat before placing it jauntily on his head.

Aziraphale bristled, pouting his lips, “I wouldn’t say rubbish, dear boy. Though the prima was perhaps a little…”

“Not the dancing, angel, the story!”

“Cinderella is a _classic_!” Aziraphale said, sounding very put out, and drawing the attention of two elderly ladies awaiting a carriage. They turned their noses up at Aziraphale’s tip of the hat. Crowley stuck his tongue out at them when Aziraphale wasn’t looking. Anthony J. Crowley – _never _‘Tony’ but sometimes ‘dear boy’ – was the type of New Money man who did not appreciate ballet, or snooty old women, but who _did _enjoy wearing clothing at increasingly avant-garde angles, as well as a glass or four of a quality vintage merlot in certain company.

“What issue did you hold with _this _story, dear boy?” Aziraphale continued, side-eyeing his companion with a well-worn annoyance. Crowley spluttered a few syllables before speaking coherently, “Well for starters the Fairy Godmother is clearly a witch.”

“Excuse me??”

“No guardian angel’s or fairy’s power ‘runs out at midnight’, that’s only ever demons or witchcraft.”

“Oh, good lord, Crowley…”

“But more than that – it’s a ridiculous idea for a story.”

“Rags-to-riches is a classic story trope.”

“Well it shouldn’t be because it doesn’t work! Even if the witch - ”

“Fairy godmother!”

“- _witch _had worked it so she wouldn’t be recognised – Cinders has _no idea _how to behave or walk or talk in that sort of company! She’d be found out in minutes! Seconds!”

Aziraphale went to snap a reply and paused, a contemplative look blooming on his face, “Well, I mean, perhaps, but really if - ”

“Fell!” called a large voice behind the pair, interrupting their conversation. They turned to see Colonel Angelo Gabriel approaching from the foyer doors. Crowley turned away to screw up his face at the Heavens, grumbling, “Can we not go _somewhere _just once without seeing this bastard?”

“Colonel, what a pleasant surprise!” Aziraphale said loudly, drowning Crowley’s voice out.

“Fell, my man,” the Colonel enthusiastically shook Aziraphale’s hand, “how’s the book collection coming along?”

“Oh wonderfully, thank you. How is Lady Sandalphon?”

“Keeping well, you know.”

The three men stood together in momentary silence. Crowley swayed back on his heels, waiting.

“Mr Crowley,” the Colonel said low, hesitantly extending a hand. Crowley took it just as gingerly and gave it a quick shake, dropping it as fast as he could. “Still living on the _west _side of Wimpole I hear?” the Colonel asked, hitting ‘west’ with a particular disdain.

“Yes,” Crowley almost growled. Aziraphale side-eyed him, before speaking to the Colonel politely, “What did you think of the ballet, Colonel?”

“Oh wonderful, positively marvellous. The prima was the best I’ve seen.”

“Oh yes, quite definitely,” Aziraphale grinned. Crowley scoffed.

“And you, _Mr _Crowley?” he said pointedly.

“Wellll,” Crowley drawled, pulling a face, “Her arabesques were a bit sloppy.”

The Colonel stared at the tall man for a moment, and then chuckled amicably, “It seems we have quite the ballet expert here!”

Aziraphale laughed too, and Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses.

Across the square a group of children and a mongrel were positioned on the steps of the courthouse, leaping into the path of those brazen enough to walk by.

“’Scuse me, sir, would like some pastries? Freshly baked today, sir.”

“Evenin’ mi’lady, 'ave you need of any phosphorescent matches?”

“Pansies, daisies, lovely violets!”

“Read all about it! Factories destroying the atmosphere! The end of the world approaches!”

“Grrrrr-WOOF!”

After twenty minutes, the foursome and mutt had only managed to pilfer two wallets containing a handful of pennies, a broken wristwatch, and a ring with a glass stone.

“Honestly, Brian, can you not tell the difference between an emerald and green glass?” Pepper, the flower seller, asked.

“It’s dark!” Brian replied, tucking into one of his unsold pastries.

“You could light one of my matches to see better? The phosphorous really makes them glow,” Wensleydale offered.

“No one cares that the world is ending and it’s all their fault,” Adam lamented, counting out the newspapers he had left to sell.

Dog grumbled and licked his paws.

The group had named themselves The Them. They moved around the centre of London, a different spot every day and every night, selling their wares and working together to gather a little extra on top. Adam had come up with the name as an ode to their track record of never being caught, disappearing around a corner just as someone shouted, “It was Them!” Adam was a newsie and their leader, because he came up with the best ideas and games, and he could pick pockets best.

“All I want,” Wensleydale sighed, picking at a cold pasty, “is a room somewhere.”

“Mmm,” Brian hummed, his mouth full. He picked out some meat for Dog, who gratefully gulped it down in one.

“It would be nice to get out of this cold night air,” Pepper sighed.

“A room with four enormous chairs – one for each of us!” Adam grinned.

“Lots of chocolate to eat!!” Brian cried.

“Warm ‘ands and feet!” Wensleydale shivered, “Wouldn’t it be loverly…”

Aziraphale and Crowley marched down the street. “It’s not entirely impossible for someone to work their way up from rags to riches, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued their argument, “What about your father? He worked his way up in the cotton mills!”

“_Don’t_,” Crowley growled, rounding on Aziraphale, “bring up my father.”

Aziraphale sighed, “But Crowley, it _does _happen. It’s true! Do you really not believe one could improve oneself and thereby one’s position in society?”

“_No! _No one can truly ascend into the upper echelons of the rich and powerful because they’re not a welcoming bunch. It’s harder to get into the London elite than it is to get into Heaven _or _Hell! God is more forgiving than that bunch. Hell, _Satan _is more forgiving.”

“You do realise _I _am one of ‘that bunch’?”

“Ngk. You’re different.”

Aziraphale shook his head, walking on, “I believe God _is _forgiving and therefore the Almighty’s plan allows for improvement of one’s societal standing. No one is bound by the chains of their birth.”

“Don’t you always say the Almighty’s plan is unknowable though?”

“_Ineffable_, dear boy.”

“Ah yes that big pompous word,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale ignored him, continuing his line of argument, “I’m only stating what I believe. With the right input and nurture, nature can be overcome.”

“You WHAT?” Crowley cried, “You _can’t _believe that??”

“’Scuse me, sir, buy a flower off a poor girl?” Pepper had stepped out in front of the two men, bringing them to an abrupt halt.

“Oh,” Aziraphale recoiled ever so slightly. The girl noticed and visibly bristled.

“Here,” Crowley reached into his pocket, “I’ve three haypence if that’s any use to you. Keep the flowers, it’s fine.”

Pepper shrugged and made her way back towards the steps with a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the arm as he tried to walk on, “I mean, _look _at those kids! This _forgiving _God of yours has allowed them to be born into poverty – born straight into a huge disadvantage! God obviously wants them to remain impoverished!”

“Crowley, you can’t know what God wants. The Almighty’s wishes are - ”

“Are you going to say ‘ineffable’?” Crowley drawled, before continuing on, “Even if those children _somehow _managed to rise up in society, it would quickly become evident by their behaviour and speech that they didn’t belong there, and the elites would cast them out. Big old tumbling fall right back down to the gutter.”

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale pondered aloud, “If one could properly teach them the etiquette, the poise, the language and proper accent… I wager it could be done.”

“Mmm, I think you’re wrong, angel.”

The pair disappeared into the shadows and rounded a corner, out of sight and earshot of the Them.

Pepper rifled through Aziraphale’s wallet, and Brian stuck a hand out, eager for his share. Adam, who had been listening to the gentleman’s conversation with interest, grabbed the wallet out of Pepper’s hand and rifled through it, ignoring her shouts of annoyance. He pulled out a card which read:

Lord. A. Z. Fell.

27A Wimpole Street

London

_Linguistics professor & rare book collector_

“I think I found us a room,” Adam smiled.


	2. With A Little Bit of Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them come to Aziraphale's house, where the idea is properly hatched to try and pass them off as upper class heirs and heiresses. Shadwell and Newt learn where the children have gone.

Miss Tracy fixed four children and a singular mutt standing on the doorstep of 27A Wimpole Street under her sceptical gaze. “And who shall I say is calling?” Miss Tracy - known within these four walls as the housekeeper and in whispers on the street as Madame Tracy the Mysterious Medium, seances Thursdays, alternative Fridays, and Saturdays by appointment only - had answered the door to and closed the door on more than her fair share of tricksters and con artists in her time. Looking at these four urchins, her senses, otherworldly and otherwise, were lit up like Piccadilly Circus at rush hour.

“Our names are none of _your _concern,” Pepper began to say haughtily, but was interrupted by Brian who grinned as he announced, “We’re the Them!”

Miss Tracy raised an arched eyebrow and sighed, turning back inside. Anathema appeared behind her, holding the door a little further open as she let Miss Tracy vanish into the shadow of the hall. Anathema Device - Lord A.Z. Fell’s beloved ward and self-appointed librarian - had always had a soft spot for odd events and mysteries, and an even softer spot for sweet-looking children and dogs. And four sweet-looking children and a dog turning up on their doorstep was a mystery indeed, quite unheard of in all the years she had lived there. “Hello children. How can we help you?”

“We need to see Lord Fell,” Adam smiled sweetly.

“Of course, do come in.” Anathema smiled, picking up the bowl of toffees by the door, “Sweets?”  
  


_***_

“And _STAY OUT!_”

Newt hit the ground flat on his bottom, a sting in his mid-back. Newton Thou-Shalt-Not-Take-The-Lord’s-Name-In-Vain Pulsifer – Newt for short – often found himself black and blue on the ground in this recently acquired job, and would have been beginning to question whether there weren’t other avenues his life could go down if he ever had the time to sit and think about it.

Shadwell somehow managed to stay upright. Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell had perfected the skill of always remaining upright decades earlier, learning that one could more easily defend oneself from hordes of witches when upright and in a fighting position. He gestured a finger towards the landlady threateningly. “Harlot! I’ll send ye back to the fires of yer maker!!” Shadwell cried. The public house doors slammed in his face.

Newt rose, rubbing his back and brushing the dust off. “I don’t suppose we’ll be allowed back in there again…” he said wistfully.

“Ach,” Shadwell grumbled, already walking away, “The Lord above made liquor for temptation and Jezebels to tempt men to it!”

“You can be tempted into temptation?” Newt asked.

“_Aye_, laddie. But the Lord above gave man an arm of iron, so he could strike down the witches in his path.”

“Oh,” Newt replied, nodding more in apparent understanding than in understanding itself.

They wove their way through the building site on the street, handing out flyers where they could before they were shooed away. Shadwell found a large box and managed to spend a record twenty minutes atop it, shouting across the street about the evil doings of the witches of London. Newt added in audience cheers and boos where they had rehearsed. Just as they were reaching the rallying finale, they were interrupted by Mr Tyler, rushing breathlessly around the corner.

“Shadwell! Thanks Heavens I’ve found you! The children!!”

“Uh oh,” Newt frowned, knowing the children’s usual exploits, “What’s the matter now?”

“Up and gone! Disappeared in the night!”

“What??” Shadwell and Newt cried together.

“Yes, and I tell you, I _followed _them!”

There was a pause, Tyler and Shadwell staring triumphantly at each other. Newt shuffled his weight, “Um… sorry, so…where did they go?”  
  


***  
  


The children followed Anathema into the library, where Miss Tracy was in the middle of not so much announcing them, but rather convincing Aziraphale not to see them.

“I don’t mean to sound suspicious, Master Fell, but they are obviously street urchins, sir, not a clue how they could’ve come to know you, sir.”

Anathema cleared her throat, giving Miss Tracy a look, and steered the children in. Aziraphale clutched a large tome to his chest and smiled hesitantly, his gaze flitting between Crowley, Anathema, and the children. His gaze came to rest on the dog, and Aziraphale let out a rather concerned whine. Dog yawned and lay down.

“Morning, Mister Lord, sir,” Adam began, bowing. The boys followed suit clumsily and Pepper gave a lopsided curtsy.

“Morning… children, um, what brings you to our humble abode?”

“You was in Covent Garden last night, weren’t’cha Professor?” Adam asked.

“Yes, I was,” Aziraphale said with some confusion, “How did you know?”

“‘Buy a flower off a poor girl?’” Pepper quoted, and grinned.

Crowley laughed then, swinging his legs out of the armchair he had been lounging across and walking over to stand next to Aziraphale, whispering in his ear, “The kids from last night…”

“Yes, I _had _worked that out,” Aziraphale hissed back as Crowley circled behind him, coming to a stop at his other shoulder.

“How can we help you, children?” Crowley asked.

“Come to return this,” Adam said, pulling Aziraphale’s wallet from his pocket and throwing it. Crowley caught it before Aziraphale could fumble the catch and handed it to him.

“Well,” Aziraphale started, flustered, “Not like petty thieves to return stolen goods!”

The four children protested loudly, and Dog barked.

“If you didn’t steal it, how did you find it?” Crowley arched an eyebrow at them.

“We was walking back to the train station see - ” Wensleydale began.

“Lovely and warm there on a night in the café,” Brian added.

“Yeah and see we was passing the end of this road,” Pepper continued.

“And there it was, lying on the ground. Miracle no one ‘ad nabbed it ‘fore us!” Adam finished. Dog grumbled in conclusion.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale pouted, giving Crowley and Anathema a look in turn, “How kind of you to come back here to return it to us.” He opened it up and searched through it, and paused a moment when he saw the contents untouched, murmuring, “Terribly kind indeed…”

Crowley shrugged, and Anathema bent down to smile at the children, “What thoughtful, considerate children you are. Can we get the carriage to drop you anywhere?”

“Oh no, thank you, mi’lady,” Pepper smiled.

“Well, at least take a shilling each for your troubles,” Aziraphale began fishing through his wallet.

“Oh, thank you s- ” Wensleydale was winded by Pepper as he reached out his hand and began to step forward.

“Thank you kindly, sir, but you can keep the money,” Adam stepped forward, “Keep it as a deposit on our lessons.”

“Lessons??” Aziraphale frowned at them over his spectacles, “I think you’ve got the wrong house.”

“Nah, sir,” Brian shook his head, “’Twas definitely yourself, sir.”

“Yeah, I’d recognise ‘is friend anywhere, the kindly gentleman gave me three ‘aypence,” Pepper smiled up at Crowley.

“So I did,” Crowley mused, wondering what the children meant. He ran over their encounter last night, understanding dawning across his face, “Oh!”

“You two was talking about ‘ow we could be taught to speak proper and be’ave proper,” Adam nodded towards Aziraphale, “Your friend thought we was destined to be poor forever, but you thought we could be taught right and escape our natures or somethink.”

“I suppose I did say that…” Aziraphale murmured, then shook his head, “Really though children it was a… a philosophical debate, a musing, an _experience de pensée_, as it were.”

“An experience of what now?” Brian asked.

“Think ‘e must be French,” Wensleydale whispered.

“Ooooh. That explains a lot,” Brian whispered back, looking around the grand room.

“I couldn’t possibly take you all on at the moment,” Aziraphale continued, moving back towards his ladder, “I’m quite overwhelmed with research projects for the time being. Perhaps at the turn of the season. Maybe. To be honest I’m not sure. But thank you once again for returning my wallet. Anathema, dear? Do see they get _something _for their troubles?”

“Haaaaang on,” Crowley drawled, holding a hand up. He moved slowly back towards Aziraphale, “Are you just scared you would lose the bet?” He grinned, sharp canines glinting.

“Bet??”

“Yes, angel, you wagered last night these children could be made suitable for the upper echelons of society. And I think you’re just scared you can’t do it.”

“What nonsense.”

“Look at this collection,” Crowley put his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and span him slowly, other arm extended towards the colossal shelves, “If anyone has a mastery of the English language, it _has _to be you. And you mix in all those upper crust circles, you know the ins and outs and wheres and whyfores of it all. This is an easy win for you.”

“Then why are you so desperately talking me into it?”

“I like a challenge, angel,” Crowley smiled wickedly, “Go on… it’ll be fun. _And _you might genuinely improve the lives of four innocent children - ”

“And Dog,” Wensleydale interjected.

“And a dog,” Crowley nodded, “for the better. For the absolute _most _better you possibly can.”

“Lord, Crowley, we do need to work on your grammar.”

“Ngk,” Crowley sneered at him, “What do you say?”

“Well,” Aziraphale wiggled, pouting his lips a little, “I suppose you may be right.”

“_Come on_, angel,” Crowley almost growled, gripping Aziraphale by the shoulders and looking him in the eye, “We’ll be wonderful influences on them.”

“Hmm, I’m sure _I _will be…” Aziraphale snarked, looking Crowley up and down.

Crowley ignored him and smirked, “We’ll be like godfathers.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up at this, and he looked across the room at the four urchins, hope in their thin faces, the dog lying peacefully at their feet. “Godfathers,” he whispered, a smile forming, his face glowing as he thought of the positive influence he could have here. After all, look how well Anathema had turned out. “Very well, but we need some sort of end-point – a measuring stick if you will.”

Crowley thought for a minute before snapping his fingers, “A room full of highest society swells who could sniff out a fox in their henhouse? There’s only one event I can think of.” He ran to Aziraphale’s desk, shuffled through a few of the papers and grabbed one, dashing to Aziraphale’s side and thrusting it at him.

“The Embassy Ball??”

“Yes, angel! We’ll say they’re your cousins – or Anathema’s cousins – or something. Distant relations of noble descent, visiting their dear Uncle Aziraphale.”

“Oh, Crowley I don’t know, if we were found out it could be disastrous.”

“Yes, but if we get away with it, imagine the acclaim! Even if we don’t reveal the truth to everyone, having four perfectly behaved children - ”

“And Dog,” Adam added.

“_And _a dog, who we can claim are highly connected – you’ll be the talk of the town!”

Aziraphale pondered this for a minute, the back and forth playing out across his face. Finally, he stuck out a hand towards Crowley who shook it enthusiastically, “It’s a deal.”

The children were sent off with Anathema to choose from the spare bedrooms in the large house, while Miss Tracy was sent on errands to town to procure proper clothing for the children and, more importantly, more food for that evening.


	3. Don't Say 'Rine', Say 'Rain'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadwell goes to visit Lord A.Z. Fell to discuss the children's future. The Them continue their elocution and dance lessons, without much success.

“Master Fell?” came Miss Tracy’s sing-song voice as she returned, untying her hat, “There’s a man here to see you, sir.”

Aziraphale tore his gaze from a tome and peered over the railing from the balcony of the library, “Oh?”

“Yes, sir, said his name is Sergeant Shadwell, and that you have his children?”

“Oh, I say, an army man,” Crowley raised an eyebrow in mock interest.

“I don’t know about that, sir,” Madame Tracy said gently, “Looks more of a dustman to me. Called me a Jezebel he did, sir.”

“You, a Jezebel, Miss Tracy?” Aziraphale frowned and turned back to his open book to ponder for a moment. Crowley made the decision for him, “Well, send the _blaggard _up! I for one should like to have a word with him.” Miss Tracy nodded and skittered off.

“He might not be a blaggard, Crowley.”

“Nonsense, of course he’s a blaggard, angel” Crowley said, turning in his chair to look up and address Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hummed in response, closing his book and taking his glasses off, “Whether he is or not, I fear we’re going to have some trouble with him. We’ll simply have to give the children back and call off the bet.”

“_If_ they are in fact his children…”

A stout man with wild eyes and an unremarkable face stormed into the library. “Professor Fell?” he asked accusatorily.

Crowley returned his attention to his newspaper, but shouted up, “ANGEL! HE’S HERE!” Shadwell flinched at the nickname, eyeing Crowley like one would watch a live tiger sitting across the room from you.

“Yes, yes, alright, Crowley, I’m here,” Aziraphale huffed as he reached the bottom of the staircase and tugged his waistcoat down.

“Professor Fell,” Shadwell began again, “I’ve come to discuss a very serious matter.”

“I quite agree,” Aziraphale nodded and extended his hand, “you’re the children’s father I understand?”

Shadwell scoffed and waved Aziraphale’s hand away, “Children! Don’t impugn my honour sir. I would never lie with any thrice-nippled Jezebel. All womenfolk are _witches_.” Crowley, his interest piqued, raised his head from his newspaper. Shadwell eyed him again with some curious disdain, before warily asking, “How many nipples have ye got?”

“Excuse me??” Aziraphale asked on Crowley’s behalf.

Crowley chuckled and folded his newspaper in half. He sat up properly, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder and beginning to braid it, an expression of feigned boredom on his face but laughter still in his eyes, as he spoke, “Tell me then, Sergeant, if they aren’t your children, what business have you with them?”

“They’re in my employ, as it were.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale looked concerned.

“Aye, they hand out flyers and raise funds for the Witchfinder Ar- uh, _Charity_.”

“Indeed?”

“We’re a secret, centuries-old organisation...”

“Oops, secret’s out then,” Crowley taunted.

Shadwell ignored him, finishing, “…who help keep the community safe. And see here, Professor, the children are in my care, yet you now have them. What d'ye expect me to do now?”

Aziraphale was busy thinking things over, “Do you have any other members who could fill in for the children for a few weeks?”

Shadwell removed his hat and held it in front of his chest, an expression of perfect sorrow on his face, “I’m afeared not, sir. Lance Corporal…Milkbottle passed only last week.”

“Oh, I am awfully sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale offered sadly.

“Who sang at his funeral, Lieutenant Kettle and Major Spoon?” Crowley mocked, picking up on the blatant lie.

Shadwell prickled, but quickly retorted, “Aye, ye must have read about it in the paper. Beautiful service.”

“I’m surprised the children aren’t in mourning clothes still,” Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale rushed forward and began to sweep the scruffy man out of the library, “Well, Sergeant Shadwell, I can see you have a spark of familial feeling for these children. They’re upstairs, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you. Oh Miss Tracy!” 

Crowley watched with amusement as Shadwell ducked under Aziraphale’s arm, backtracking into the library as Miss Tracy teetered in.

“Now listen here a minute, Professor, did I ever say a word about wanting them back?” He eyed Miss Tracy with disgust and added, “I think we should discuss this man to man. Away wi’ ye, Harlot!”

“I think I’d better go,” Miss Tracy pouted, storming back out.

“Now, really, Sergeant Shadwell, if I may be so bold as to inquire, that is - if you don’t want the children back, what _do _you want?”

“I figured we could come to…some sort of _arrangement_.”

“Arrangement?!” Aziraphale said, appalled.

Crowley scoffed and rose from his seat. Digging about in his jacket thrown across the chair behind him, he pulled out a cheque book. “Five pounds?”

“Oh!” Shadwell cried, seemingly offended, “Have I mentioned money?? Tell me, have I asked ye for a brass farthing?”

Crowley snapped the cheque out of the book and held it out, “Ten pounds.”

“Aye, go on then.” Shadwell snatched the paper from Crowley’s hand and left as quickly as he had arrived.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Aziraphale murmured, staring at the doorway in shock. He turned back to Crowley, mouth agape, trying to form words. Eventually he choked out, “Don’t tell the children.”

“What kind of stupid statement is that, of course I’m not going to tell the children!”

***

The days went by slowly, mostly spent in Aziraphale’s study with the children recording themselves speaking. Aziraphale had to constantly check in to ensure they were saying (or trying to say) the correct vowel sounds and not recording nonsense or rude songs. On the third morning, after an hour of flitting in and out of the room, he had had quite enough of the incessant giggling and decided to bring the children into the library to work together. It was not going well.

“3, 4, 5 - No Brian, they’re not sweets!” Aziraphale shouted, his exasperation growing as Brian swallowed the marbles again.

“Can I ‘ave a go?” Wensleydale asked.

“No, you cannot “’ave” a go, you may _have _a go. Can you not hear the difference?”

“’ear what difference?”

“Hear_, _Wensleydale, _hear_…” Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat and took a deep breath, “Alright, everyone make this sound.” He breathed out an aspirated H. All the children copied. “Very good. Now try shorter with a vowel. Ha, Ha, Ha,” he continued, making shorter sounds. The children copied again.

“Lovely. That is the sound that must be included in every ‘_have’, _every ‘_hear’_, every ‘_however’_. Pepper, try saying ‘however’”

“’OWever.”

“Lord, no, Pepper, with the H sound that we just practiced!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake. Adam you try.”

“’owHever.”

“Oh, good Lord.”

“Should I try it H’again?”

“No! No, please no.”

The afternoons went faster. Crowley pushed the table aside in the dining room, much to Miss Tracy’s irritation, and taught the children to dance. On the first afternoon they quickly got the hang of the waltz, albeit with more the enthusiasm of a hoedown than an Embassy ball. Today the gavotte steps had sent them all into hysterics, and Crowley was quickly losing control of the situation, Dog doing manic laps of the room and barking. Giving up, he proceeded to skip around the room, gaining cheers from the Them at his impressively flexible high kicks. They were arm in arm, trotting about, and Crowley realised that, despite the poor posture and form, they were actually remembering a lot of the steps. He clapped and whooped and cheered and the children broke out in celebratory cries, spinning in an ever-quickening circle. Dog leapt up on the table and howled. Aziraphale, who had been upstairs trying to research in much needed peace, marched into the room and silenced them all with a look. The table was returned to its proper position. Supper was a tense affair after that, and subsequently the children returned to the library to practice more vowel sounds, no rude songs included.

“Now children,” Aziraphale gave each child a notebook and a pencil when they had finished, “Every night before you go to bed, where you would normally say your prayers, I want you to say the phrases written in these books. You can even practice writing them out if you like, I’ve left room for that.”

“But won’t God be mad we’re not doing our prayers?”

“I believe you’ll get much further with God if you aren’t offending Her ears.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a sharp look and turned to smile at the children, “He’s joking.”

“The rine in Spine stys minely in the pline?” Pepper frowned, reading aloud.

“No, remember it’s an A sound not an I sound. ‘Rain’ not ‘Rine’. ‘Spain’ not ‘Spine’. ‘Stay’ not ‘Sty’ and so on.”

“But rine doesn’t sty on plines,” Adam countered, still using the wrong vowel sounds and seeming to hit them especially hard.

“It rines in cities,” Wensleydale added, “It should be ‘the rine in Spine falls everywhere, on plines and cities’.”

“And farms,” Brian added.

“And what with global warming the amount of rine and where the rine falls will be more unpredictable,” Adam crossed his arms.

“Yeah, it’s stupid!” Brian concluded.

Aziraphale stood with his mouth agape. Crowley watched in mild horror, glancing between the children and the soon-to-be irate Lord. He moved before Aziraphale could, gathering the children up, “Right, children, well that’s been a lovely day hasn’t it. Bet you’re all exhausted, all that dancing. Time for bed. Come along, off to bed. You too, Dog.”

Crowley shooed them all upstairs. Returning, he found Aziraphale glued to the same spot, his face growing redder, his moving eyes the only thing betraying his racing mind. Crowley grabbed a tumbler and some Scotch and thrust it into Aziraphale’s hand. “Come on, angel. Drink up. It’s going to be a long three weeks if you don’t relax a bit.”

“It’s been a long _three days_, dear boy,” Aziraphale finally spoke, knocking back half the whisky, “What _have _you talked me into?”


	4. I Could Have Danced All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high in the townhouse as the Them don't seem to be improving. However soon, with some personalisation and tweaks from the children, their lessons start to click into place, and moods are lifted with some late night dancing.

* * *

“Oh, for G- S- Someone’s sake, angel, it must be three o’clock in the morning! We’ve been at this for two weeks! Be reasonable!” Crowley groaned from beneath a newspaper.

“I am _always _reasonable!” Aziraphale replied, rubbing his temples, “If I can carry on with a blistering headache, so can they.”

The Them were strewn across the sofas, a bundle of legs, arms and ice packs on sore heads. They grumbled sleepily in protest.

“Come now children, just think of what you’re _trying _to accomplish!”

“We don’t wanna ‘ccomplish anythink,” Brian whined.

“We’re tired,” Adam said simply.

Wensleydale just whimpered and rolled over.

“Think of the majesty and grandeur of the English language,” Aziraphale continued, with the tone of a rallying politician, “the musical mixture of sounds giving voice to the noblest thoughts - ”

“We don’t want _noble _thoughts,” Adam grumbled, “I like _my _thoughts.”

“But children - ”

“And it still rines in _cities _in Spine,” Adam challenged.

Aziraphale bristled, looking ready to launch into yet another lecture. Crowley, who had been peering out from under the newspaper on his head, sighed and let it fall back.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Pepper said decisively, dragging the three boys from their positions.

Aziraphale sighed heavily as they listened to the children run up the stairs, doors slamming along the upper corridor.

“I don’t think this is going to work, Crowley.”

“Does that mean I win our bet?” Crowley smirked, picking up Pepper’s discarded ribbon from Aziraphale’s desk and tying his hair into a loose low ponytail. Aziraphale made an exasperated noise, pouring a tumbler of whisky and handing it to Crowley before pouring one for himself. Crowley took a burning sip and continued his teasing, “Because if I’ve won, I know exactly what favour I want from you and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Crowley,” Aziraphale downed the rest of his drink and shook his head, pouring himself another, “I don’t want to give up yet… but I just can’t see a way forward. I’m getting absolutely nowhere with them.”

“_The _Them.”

“Urgh,” Aziraphale grumbled at the grammatical inaccuracy, drinking, before adding lamentably, “And Brian swallowed all my marbles.” Irritated, he reached to his neck and yanked his bowtie loose, undoing his top button. Crowley squirmed at the rare sight of his bare throat moving as he gulped the amber liquid down.

A knock came at the door and Crowley jumped, his daydreams interrupted. Miss Tracy teetered in, her long eyelashes fluttering as she blinked, “Here you are Master Fell, I made your favourite.” She placed a plate of warm quartered crumpets down on the desk. Aziraphale positively glowed at the sight.

“If that’s all you need for tonight, sir, I hope you won’t mind my retiring for a few hours once I've cleared up the kitchen?”

Aziraphale nodded and thanked her profusely as she left. “A most wonderful woman,” he smiled softly, picking up a quarter and eyeing it with adoration.

Crowley thought he saw a flicker of movement at the open door and turned slowly. Aziraphale’s lewd moan as he bit into the buttery snack whipped Crowley’s head back around, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. Aziraphale’s head lolled back in ecstasy. He had always taken far too much pleasure in food, and Crowley felt he might discorporate on the spot at the noises he was making. But Crowley’s rising blush was quashed when a small freckled hand reached up from beneath the desk towards the plate. Crowley shooed it away, peering under the desk to see a very sorry looking Brian.

“And what’s more, Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale continued, sitting forward to pick up another quarter of crumpet, “What’s more, Adam was putting H’s where they don’t belong! Hearing him say “Hever” instead of “Ever”, oh, Crowley, it’s like nails on a chalkboard!” He waved the crumpet about as he spoke, passing it tantalisingly in front of Brian’s hiding spot several times. Crowley heard a small noise and glared down at the child.

“Everything alright, dear boy?”

“Hmm?” Crowley snapped back up, “Yes, yes, angel. Thought I saw a…. duck. Must be tired, seeing things. Anyway, um, I think I’d better go check on the children.”

“Ah yes,” Aziraphale murmured, cocking his head to the side and listening, “Silence. Always a sign that evil is afoot.”

When Aziraphale stood to peruse the bookshelf, Crowley grabbed Brian by the shirt collar and raced out of the room and down the corridor. Crowley clipped his shoulder with the back of his hand, “_What _do you think you’re doing??”

“We’ve got something to show you!”

“And why does that require you to hide under a desk and steal crumpets?? What have I told you about knocking and standing at the door like a civilised person?”

Brian shuffled from foot to foot, muttering, “They smelled good and I was hungry…”

“Oh, for Hell’s… go ask Miss Tracy for _your own _crumpets and then come _straight back upstairs_, do you hear me young man?”

***

Upstairs, Crowley curled at uncomfortable angles trying to fit into Adam’s small room and eventually sat on the floor. Brian sat next to him, happily stuffing crumpets into his mouth, butter running down his chin, and the other three stood in front of them.

“So, we know that we upset Lord Fell,” Pepper said matter-of-factly, “And we realised we do need to get it right to make it up to him.”

“Except we still think _his _rhyme is…” Wensleydale searched for a big word.

“Stupid,” Brian offered through a mouthful of crumpet.

“Inaccurate,” Pepper countered.

“The point is, I came up with a new rhyme,” Adam concluded with a smile.

Crowley stumbled over a few sounds, surprised, finally getting out, “Um, ok then. Let’s hear it.”

“The Dane’s wolfsbane…” Wensleydale started, his vowels an odd mixture of Cockney and RP.

“Causes werewolves lots of pain!” Adam finished, trying hard to get the sound right.

Crowley ran his hand down his face, hiding a smirk. Regaining his composure, he thought it over, exaggerating his thinking faces. Finally, he nodded, and said, “Well it contains the vowel sound he wanted you all to work on. And plenty of consonants to practice. It _might _just work.”

The foursome giggled with glee and began chanting the phrase repeatedly, their voices rising in pitch and volume, “The Dane’s wolfsbane causes werewolves lots of pain!”

Crowley laughed along with them, raising his hands, “Ok, ok, come on now, if you want to show Lord Fell you’ve got to be just a little sensible about it. Adam you try again.”

Adam stood tall, forcibly straight, and cleared his throat, “The DANE’s wolfsBANE causes WEERwolves lots of PAIN!”

“It’s not WEERwolf, Adam,” Pepper affirmed, “It’s WHEREwolf!”

“WHEREwolf?” Adam asked.

“WHEREwolf??” Wensleydale seconded.

“THEREwolf!” Brian yelled, and pointed at Adam, who threw back his head and howled. The Them cackled, clutching their sides, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile. Suddenly all four children were in front of him.

“Do you think we’ve got it?”

“Oh,” Crowley fidgeted, lying through a smile, “I think so. It sounds alright to me.”

“Can we show Lord Fell now?”

“Oh no, no, it’s very late now, children, you can show him in the morning.”

“He’ll be so proud of us!”

“I know, but it’s well past even my bedtime, never mind yours. He’ll be working at this hour.”

All four children looked at each other, and then leaned in, all big eyes and teeth as they whined, “Pleeeeeease?”

***

“I can’t cope with this while I’m drunk,” Aziraphale whispered after Crowley had explained, lifting his hand to take another sip from his tumbler. Crowley elbowed him in the ribs, putting his hand on top of the glass and lowering it back to the desk, hissing, “Pay attention, they wanted to show you.”

“Show me _what_? It sounded like a pack of wild dogs were performing a Satanic ritual upstairs. Honestly, Crowley, the neighbours are going to start _talking_.”

Adam stepped forward first, and delicately cleared his throat. Crowley raised an eyebrow, holding his breath.

“The Dane’s wolfsbane causes werewolves lots of pain.”

Aziraphale stumbled out of his chair, eyes blown wide and mouth open. He looked back at Crowley before turning to face the child. “Say it again?”

Adam stood a little taller, “The Dane’s wolfsbane causes werewolves lots of pain.”

“And you?” Aziraphale gestured to Wensleydale.

“The Dane’s wolfsbane causes werewolves lots of pain.”

Aziraphale practically squealed with delight. “Pepper, who is the owner of the wolfsbane?”

“The Dane,” Pepper replied perfectly.

“And Brian, what does it cause the werewolf?”

“Lots of pain,” Brian smiled.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened round in shock as he turned back to Crowley, “Did you do this?”

Crowley shook his head, supressing a bigger smile, “I guided a little, but they came up with it and practiced it all on their own.”

“It’s… it’s… there’s absolutely _no _diphthong on the vowel, the consonants are clear and clipped, they’ve even got WHEREwolf right…”

Pepper had to nudge Brian when he chuckled “there wolf...” under his breath. Aziraphale rounded back on the children, “Adam – say ‘however’”

“However,” Adam shrugged.

Aziraphale threw his arms out as he said, “By Jove, I think they’ve got it!”

The children whooped and shrieked, taking the man’s outstretched arms as an invitation, and all ploughed into his soft stomach together in a group hug. Aziraphale squeaked as the Them began to spin him around, and he flailed his arms about, crying only semi-seriously for Crowley to help him.

Crowley was bent double laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. Downing the rest of Aziraphale’s whisky himself, he stood and placed a disc on the gramophone. “I think this calls for a celebration!”

A hearty gavotte blared out, and the children dove around, occasionally coming together to execute beautiful gavotte technique, much to Aziraphale’s delight, and then breaking apart to dance wildly and howl likes werewolves.

“My Lord,” Crowley half-bowed, half-curtsied in front of Aziraphale.

“Mr. Crowley,” Aziraphale drunkenly bowed, almost falling over. Crowley steadied him. Aziraphale grabbed his hand and pulled him closer, “May I have this dance?”

The children joined in, skipping around them, and Pepper climbed onto a chair to clap and stamp her feet in time, leaping down to spin around with Wensleydale, as Adam and Brian linked arms and did high kicks across the room. The gavotte ended, and The Them fell back onto the sofa giggling wildly as the next song came on.

“Oooh, tango!” Aziraphale cried, pulling Crowley closer against his torso. Crowley blushed a little, but as Aziraphale took on a serious pose and expression he followed suit.

They swept about the room, and the Them quickly stopped their giggling to watch in awe. Crowley’s long hair whipped around as Aziraphale span him out and back in, and they stalked and twirled about the room with alcohol-enhanced elegance. Suddenly there was no difference between the two men. No class divide, no birth rights, no right side of the street. They were as one, a beautiful blur of white and black merging into a soft grey as they pirouetted together between the furniture. As the song built to its finale, Aziraphale dipped Crowley back. One of Crowley’s feet came off the ground, and he hung onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, lightheaded, smiling serenely up into his face, Aziraphale gazing back with a beatific expression. Losing himself in those ocean blue eyes, Crowley felt he could do a thousand things he had never done before. If they had wings, they could have spread them and soared.

His amber eyes flitted down to those plush pink lips and returned, finding those bright eyes he knew so well had drawn closer.

The children cheered and clapped, breaking the moment. “And _we _were told to behave!” Adam smirked.

Aziraphale righted Crowley, straightening his own waistcoat and pushing his hair back. Crowley was still watching him with a lopsided smile, a blush across his cheeks.

“Come now, children,” Aziraphale said firmly, “You’ve done very well, but you really ought to be in bed! Run along now.”

The Them rose from the sofa, Adam and Wensleydale skipping upstairs, Brian and Pepper in a waltz hold spinning out into the corridor, laughing.

“Oh, I could have danced _all night_!” Pepper giggled.

“You and me both, kid,” Crowley whispered, raking his eyes up Aziraphale’s soft figure and pouring himself the last of the whisky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about all of you but I live for Aziraphale and Crowley dancing with each other. Trust the Them to ruin the moment!! Points if anyone caught the Young Frankenstein reference ;)


	5. What A Frenzied Moment That Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them trial their new skills at the opening Ascot race, with disastrous results (i.e. the scene from My Fair Lady that features the 'Ascot Gavotte' which inspired this whole fic!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Crowley with changing pronouns

Aziraphale stood by the tables, nervously chewing on petite salmon vol-au-vents. Although Aziraphale had sourced clothing for the children, Crowley had insisted on getting the Them ready all on his own, and had sent the fussing, interfering man on ahead. The children had improved so much they had decided to trial them. Just a small social gathering, the first Ascot race of the season. There would be enough attendees to provide the right atmosphere for the children, but many of the elites were still away hunting and would not come until the races were in full swing. Aziraphale had left Anathema in charge of Dog (he really did wish the children would choose a proper name if they insisted on keeping the mutt) and he had been shooed out of the kitchen by Miss Tracy with assurances that she was perfectly capable of preparing dinner without any help. So, he had arrived here unfashionably early, and was avoiding all inquisitive looks by befriending the stack of aperitifs on the corner table.

Colonel Gabriel popped up next to him, and Aziraphale almost choked on a vol-au-vent. “Fell!” the Colonel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said, recovering and giving the Colonel a polite nod, “A beautiful day for it.”

“Indeed,” the Colonel nodded back, “I’m here with my cousin, Lady Sandalphon.” He gestured to the short brunette, engrossed in conversation in a nearby group, a disproportionately large hat balanced precariously on her round head.

“I have never been so keyed up!” she said flatly to a small lady in an equally large hat.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly, “How lovely. I do hope she enjoys the races.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be quite thrilling for her. You’re, um,” the Colonel looked pointedly around, “here _alone _then, Fell?”

“Oh no – oh, well, I mean, yes, _presently_, but you see, I’m awaiting my, um… my… oh look, I see them now!”

Aziraphale had spotted Brian in the midst of the crowd, looking a little lost. Wensleydale was soon at his arm, both boys looking smart in their morning suits and top hats. Adam appeared behind them, tipping his hat to a lady and smiling. The woman scoffed and flounced away. Pepper looked deeply uncomfortable, all in white frills and ruffles, with a sweet white hat atop her head, her expression beneath it fiery.

“Oh my.” Aziraphale was worried already. And then Crowley appeared.

Crowley’s long hair was curled and swept up underneath an enormous black hat, complete with black swan feathers. A fitted black dress in a mermaid silhouette clung to a shapely figure, and delicate black tinted glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. Crowley used a slim black parasol as a walking stick, as the children were steered through the crowd in Aziraphale’s direction.

Aziraphale raced over and caught Crowley by the elbow, moving into a secluded booth. He tried to get close enough to whisper, but almost took his eye out on one of the feathers. He went to bat them out of the way and Crowley caught his hand and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing? This is custom made _original _Chanel! Pepper chose it.”

“Adam helped pick the dress,” Pepper said, shoulders tense under stuck out ruffles.

“I think it suits you,” Adam smiled.

“Crowley, _what _are you playing at?!” Aziraphale stage-whispered, ignoring the children and glancing about to make sure no one else could overhear, “We’re supposed to be blending in!”

“This _is _blending in!” Crowley hissed, "I thought it best to say they're my relations, so it doesn't affect you if they're not ready."

“Hi, Mr Fell!” Brian grinned.

“We’re being _very _well-behaved,” Wensleydale promised with a grin.

“We’ll see about that,” Aziraphale retorted, turning back to Crowley.

A shadow fell over them all and a couple of the children squeaked. Colonel Gabriel was silhouetted against the blue sky. He extended a hand past Aziraphale to Crowley. “Is anyone going to introduce me to this _vision_?” he enquired.

Aziraphale suppressed a scoffing sound, and cleared his throat, “Colonel Gabriel, this is, uh, this is…”

“Lady Ashtoreth Young,” Crowley responded, a soft Scottish lilt in her voice, chuckling lightly as she added, “Quite a mouthful.”

“Colonel Angelo Gabriel,” the Colonel bowed his head, “And not at all, Lady Young. Tell me, where does that lovely lilting accent hail from?”

Aziraphale was horrified to see a delicate, flirtatious blush shade Crowley’s cheeks as she replied, “I was raised on the family estate in Paisley.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale butted in, “Her, uh, delicate constitution keeps her out of London in the warm seasons. The clean Scottish air does wonders for the lungs, I hear.”

Crowley ignored him, “But I often visit to see my young cousin here.” Crowley patted Adam on the head. Adam smiled up at the tall man. The Colonel gave the boy a smirk.

“And of course,” Crowley continued, “I must visit to check in on my… _fiancé_.” She made eyes at Aziraphale, who choked on the air, turning a shade of purple.

“Oh, poor lamb!” Crowley cooed, placing a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Perhaps he should come and visit me, get some of that _clean Scottish air _into those city lungs!” She laughed, delicate and fake.

The Colonel made an answering sound, and slapped Aziraphale on the back, “Good Lord, Fell! I’d always taken you to be a… uh, that is to say, I thought you were a confirmed old bachelor. Now I see you already had the cream of the crop!” He gave a jovial one-two punch to Aziraphale’s chest, and continued, “Keeping such a beautiful secret from your friends, Fell, really, where’s your camaraderie?”

“Um, auntie?” Adam enquired sweetly, tugging on Crowley’s arm, “Brian and Wensleydale have gone over there by the food.”

“What a marvellous idea, darling, why don’t you and your cousin join them?” Crowley smiled, watching them slip elegantly out of the group and then run, weaving between the guests to reach the table with the cakes where Brian and Wensleydale were already making a start.

Aziraphale straightened up and wiggled uncomfortably, “Well, Colonel, we really must - ”

“How did you meet our dear Fell, then?” the Colonel interrupted, stepping to loop his arm through Crowley’s and steer her away. Aziraphale was incredulous, frozen to the spot for a moment before storming after them. “Related, are we? Surely not with those features. I’m sure I don’t know more than…two of his acquaintances,” the Colonel chuckled, “You’re not a relation to that _dreadful _social climber, Anthony J. Crowley? Or I should say just Anthony Crowley. I hear the J doesn’t stand for anything!”

Crowley visibly stiffened, her painted nails digging into her palm, “Crowley, you say?”

“Yes, of the Manchester Crowleys?” He leaned in to whisper loudly in her ear so Aziraphale could hear, “Really not the sort of associate you want my dear, a real gold-digger if you catch my meaning, and lives on the _west _side of Wimpole, can you believe. If you’re marrying into this family, you might want to…clear out the clutter?”

Crowley managed to keep her fangs behind her painted mouth, stretched out in a forced smile. She slipped her arm out of the Colonel’s and moved to stand next to Aziraphale, looping her arm through his. He noticeably jumped, and Crowley placed her other hand on his elbow, and squeezed a tight warning.

“What a pleasure it has been to meet you, Colonel. I’m so pleased my dear Azi has such caring friends to keep him entertained when I’m away. Perhaps we might see you later on?”

Crowley whisked Aziraphale away before he could balk at the cutesy nickname or get his farewells out, marching as fast as she could in her tight dress. She practically hissed when she found a quiet corner and stopped, pacing back and forth, her eyes wild behind the spectacles. “Social climber!” she flustered, “The J doesn’t stand for – I’ll tell him what the _bloody _J stands for in a minute – the nerve - ”

“Crowley, please, keep your voice down!”

Crowley growled low, and Aziraphale stepped back. Across the lawn, there was a shout.

Aziraphale leaned backwards and watched in helpless horror as Brian clambered onto the dessert table to help himself to the giant four tier cake. Despite Wensleydale’s counterbalancing of the table and Pepper’s yelling at them both to stop it, the table came crashing down, the cake flying forwards and covering a duchess and a baroness in buttercream icing. Aziraphale glanced frantically around for Adam, and found him, deep in conversation with the Colonel as they watched the races.

“It all seems very cruel to the ‘orses, Mr Gabriel. Making them run round and round and round. They’ll soon 'ave done them in with all that runnin’. Don’t you think they’d rather be free Mr. Gabriel, sir? I mean, look at poor Dover ‘ere, slowing down something rotten.” As the horses thundered past again and the spectators raised their binoculars in enraptured silence, Adam leaned over the barrier and yelled, “OI! GIVE YOUR ‘ORSE A REST! YOU’VE RUN IT OFF IT’S BLOOMIN’ ARSE!”

A woman next to Adam squealed and fainted, with many more moving away. Colonel Gabriel took a sharp step back, distancing himself from the child and assuring anyone listening that he did _not _know who this little heathen was.

Aziraphale was so beside himself, he almost swore aloud. Moments ago, Crowley had been busy concocting schemes to spread salacious rumours about Colonel Gabriel having a lover boy, the Prince Beelzebub, a pretty young royal visiting from hotter climes. Now Crowley’s face was aghast.

“I thought _you _were keeping an eye on them!” the pair said in unison.

Crowley began to laugh heartily, “Hell, Aziraphale, I think you might be losing our bet.”

Aziraphale wished he could snap his fingers and whisk them all home immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Aziraphale isn't very happy. I feel angst brewing...


	6. You'll Be Sorry But Your Tears'll Be Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers are lost and arguments ensue following the disastrous Ascot outing, prompting the Them to try to return to Convent Garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Crowley with changing pronouns. Now complete with another amazing WyvernQuill illustration!

The Them were quiet as they watched Aziraphale’s stony expression on the carriage ride home. Crowley had been making passing comments about the races, Lady Sandalphon’s ridiculous hat, about ducks flying past outside, but eventually grew silent as well.

The children kicked off their shoes and ran upstairs as soon as they got into the house. They all opened and closed their doors to give the impression of disappearing into their rooms, and all came back to the banister to listen.

Aziraphale marched into the library, and almost closed the door on Crowley as she followed. Crowley said nothing, sitting down in the usual armchair and removing her large hat and unpinning her hair, which fell down in loose curls.

Aziraphale turned and opened his mouth to reprimand Crowley, but the sight of her stopped the words in his mouth for a moment and he huffed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well?” Crowley began, sick of the silence, “Any thoughts?”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“How they did today, what went wrong, how to move forward…”

“What went -?!” Aziraphale snapped, regaining control a second later, “What went wrong, Crowley, was that I should have prepared the children better for this.”

“_We _should have, you mean.”

“No, Crowley, _I _should have. Evidently your influences are…not helping the children at all, your background clearly isn’t of the proper…that is to say…you haven’t had…” Aziraphale trailed off, looking upwards.

Crowley rose from the chair, mouth agape and twisting into a snarl, “Don’t tell me you’re going to start all this old money-new money east-west nonsense that bastard Colonel’s forever going on about?”

“Well he’s not wrong, Crowley.”

“That’s a bit holier-than-thou isn’t it?!”

“That’s the whole point, Crowley, I am a great deal holier – or richer…than you.”

“Oh!” Crowley cried, wounded, “So it’s my fault I’m _new _money is it?”

“Crowley, you know that’s not what I me-”

“Oh, yes it is. It’s my fault I live on _that _side of the street instead of this one, is it? Huh? It’s _my _fault that I didn’t have the right nurture and had the wrong nature, is that it? Or was it all part of your _forgiving _God’s _ineffable _bastard plan??”

“Don’t start - ”

“It’s my fault my father didn’t have time to teach me the proper ways of society cos he was too busy off making money to ensure we stayed wealthy enough for the upper circles?!”

“Crowley you can’t blame him, your father only wanted a secure future for you.”

“Secure fut- he _damned _me to this position! This upper-middle-class mediocrity, this halfway there, rich enough to be here but of poor enough stock to be shunned back into the shadows. And this is exactly what you’re doing to those children! You’re damning them!”

“I’m not _damning _anybody! Crowley this was _your _idea!”

“This is ridiculous. _You _are ridiculous. I’m leaving.”

“Don’t. Please, Crowley.”

Crowley stopped in the doorway, shoulders tight, and rounded back on Aziraphale, gripping his hands, “We can do this together, you know. Okay, so maybe this whole fragile bubble world of the elites comes crashing down in fire around us, maybe you don’t run in the highest of high circles anymore, but Aziraphale, do you _want _that? Do you honestly, truthfully care about any of those people at all? Do you have _anything whatsoever _in common with any of them? Huh? How long have we been friends? We’ll start our own circles – our own side of the bloody street! We could live together.” Something vulnerable flashed through Crowley’s eyes and she stopped talking.

Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze, a visible tremor in his lips. “Live…together?” he almost whispered. He tore his eyes away and scoffed, dropping Crowley’s hands, “Listen to yourself. Our own circ- Crowley, I have _everything _in common with ‘those people’, as you call them.”

“Oh, come on.”

“And nothing whatsoever in common with you!”

“Angel!”

“We are _old money _and _new money_. I shouldn’t even be seen fraternising with you.”

“_FRATERNISING?!”_

“We’re practically on opposite sides!”

“We can be on our own side!” Crowley snarled.

“There is no 'our side'! It’s over!” Aziraphale yelled, his voice reverberating in the large room.

Crowley stilled, shoulders dropping, painted lips set in a straight line. “Right… well then. Ngk. Have a nice time at the ball.”

The children heard the library door slam and watched Crowley stalk out into the night. Anathema dashed into the library, followed by Miss Tracy.

“Lord Fell sounded very angry,” Adam pondered. Dog whimpered and lay down.

“Mr Crowley sounded upset,” Brian said, pressing his face against the banister.

“We forgot everything they told us,” Pepper said, a sad look twisting her mouth.

“We behaved horribly,” Wensleydale concluded.

A smash of china downstairs snapped them all back into the moment. They heard a shout. “I haven’t been _Master _Fell since I was a boy, show some respect!” The library door opened fully and Miss Tracy stormed out, grumbling to herself, a smashed teacup in her hands.

“_Aziraphale!_” Anathema reprimanded sharply, and the library door clicked closed.

“Come on,” Adam stood, “We’ve caused enough trouble.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where we belong.”

***

The main square at Covent Garden was still in the dusk. The hazy sky overhead ran blue, lavender and faintly orange over the buildings. The opera had started, and you could distantly hear the tenor in the midst of a dramatic aria.

“I think that’s Puccini…” Pepper mused.

A voice rose in unison with the tenor, across the square, a rough man with a dirty face floating the high notes effortlessly as he moved his stock about ready for tomorrow. Another man joined in on a lower harmony, a smile passing between them.

The Them moved across the square towards the small crowd under the pillars. The flower girls were wrapping their bunches of violets and pansies ready for the morning, the men shifting larger stock around or warming themselves by the small fire in the barrel in the corner.

Wensleydale shivered against the cold breeze and made his way over to the orange glow of the flames. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, and the group of men made room for the child. Adam and Dog squeezed in next to him.

“All I want,” one of the men piped up, “is a room. Somewhere.”

“Mmm, out of this cold night air,” another shivered.

“Say…” came a voice across the circle, “Do I know you two?”

The pair looked up and almost gasped. Newt looked back at them, frowning. “I could swear I know that dog - ”

“Yes, it’s - ” the children began to say, thrilled to see a familiar face.

“No – no, forgive me, sorry. Firelight playing tricks on my eyes.” A look came over his face, and he stood, eyeing the group of flower girls with suspicion, “Must be witches.”

Pepper stopped to watch the girls tying up their flowers, and moved to join in. One of the girls turned abruptly, tipping her hat, “Apologies, Miss. Was you wantin’ some flowers?”

Pepper faltered, her hand slipping back to her side. Brian appeared next to her and dug around in the pocket of his suit trousers. Finding a coin, he handed it over, taking the small bunch of violets.

“Thank you kindly,” the girl said as she tucked the coin away, and then frowned at the pair, “Say, where’s your parents? Nice kids like yourselves shouldn’t be out this time o’night. Want us to call a carriage for you?”

“No, thank you,” Pepper smiled softly, steering Brian away.

A shout across the square drew everyone’s attention, as a group of children tumbled around the corner, sprinting towards them. The group of sellers opened up like clockwork and enveloped the children, hiding them under carts and amongst flowers and returning to their work within seconds. It was something the Them had seen so many times before but never from this angle.

“It was THEM!” came a cry as three police officers came blundering around the corner. The shout echoed and died in the quiet square, and the officers stopped, watching the sellers and looking around. Approaching, one of them spotted Wensleydale and grabbed him by the arm. “Got one!”

Adam grabbed Dog before he lunged. Wensleydale shrieked, “Un_hand _me at once!!”

“Oh!” the police officer dropped the child, hearing his voice and actually looking at him for the first time, seeing the morning suit and slicked hair, “Oh, forgive me, I thought – Say, what’s a nice kid your age doing out this time o’night??”

“We were just getting some air,” Adam appeared, linking arms with Wensleydale, “our parents are in the opera tonight. Excuse us.”

The foursome hid in the foyer until the officers left, Dog keeping watch outside the door. “We don’t belong here anymore, do we?” Adam suddenly stated from his perch on the steps. Pepper and Wensleydale shook their heads.

“We’ve been replaced,” Brian mumbled, watching the other children disappear into the shadows behind the courthouse.

“Where can we go now?” Pepper asked.

Adam thought for a moment, his fist under his chin as he leaned forward. Nodding to himself, he stood up, straightening his suit jacket and jerking his head towards the door, “Come on. There’s one place we can try.”

***

Crowley rubbed his eyes, standing in the doorway in his black silk pyjamas, a brocade dressing gown slung over his shoulders.

“I thought you were in bed?” Crowley grumbled and yawned.

“We pretended,” Brian said somewhat proudly, and Wensleydale nudged him, going for a more sorrowful, “We were worried.”

“Anyway, we tried to go back to Covent Garden but…” Pepper trailed off.

“We don’t have anywhere to go, Mr Crowley.”

Crowley’s posture changed then, so that he loomed to his full height. His amber eyes blazed beneath a dangerous frown, and Adam caught Wensleydale’s arm as he tried to back away. Crowley had no reason to take them in, not when they had potentially cost him so much. Adam began to formulate ideas of where to try next. Ideally, he wanted to leave Shadwell’s place as the absolute final option.

Crowley shook his head and chuckled darkly, and all the children flinched at the sound. Crowley opened the door fully and beckoned them in, with a sad glance up towards the east side of the street, “Of course you can stay here, I have plenty of rooms and you are _always _welcome. I’ll see if Ligur can make some extra supper.”


	7. On The Street Where You Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the children safely asleep, Crowley takes a late night walk back to Aziraphale's house, considering his feelings for him and hoping to be able to talk to him. The Them hatch a plan to fix things.

The Them were tucked in, all snug in their beds, Brian with a post-supper snack, Wensleydale and Pepper with books. Adam and Dog were already sleeping soundly amongst the black silk sheets covering Crowley’s king size mattress. Within the hour, every bedroom in Crowley’s townhouse contained a contented child dreaming of the ice cream that filled their bellies, and one snoring dog dreaming of terrorising cats.

Crowley stood alone in the dim light at the top of the stairs, rubbing a hand down his face. Opening his eyes again, his gaze automatically fell on the spot it always focused on from this vantage point. The great window above the landing looked out over the north end of the street, and there, minute, close yet far away, Crowley could distinguish a single golden light he knew to be currently illuminating a certain Lord in his study. He stretched out a hand towards it until his fingertip covered it entirely. Was he imagining the warmth of that golden light beneath it? Could strands of gold be encircling his fingers, his arms, his entire self? Could the strength of that light lift him up and pull him down the street, flying on dark wings into that study, to its very source, smiling down upon him from a halo of warmth, taking Crowley into golden arms to soak him to the bone in that absolving light…

“Everythin’ alright, sir?” Hastur had paused in the darkness of the landing, his head tipped to the side as he watched his master, who appeared to be trembling slightly.

“Hmm? Yes, old sport.”

“The children are settled in the bedrooms then, sir?”

“Yes, Hastur, leave them in peace, come along,” Crowley swept down the stairs and grabbed Hastur’s arm, dragging the pallid man along with him.

“But sir,” Hastur said unsteadily as they walked, “I’m only concerned about where _you _will sleep.”

“Hastur, I’m not going to ask for _your _bed if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh,” Hastur almost smiled.

“I’m sure it’s full of maggots.”

“Oh,” the lopsided frown was back.

Crowley removed his dressing gown and grabbed his jacket and top hat from the coat stand, throwing them on over his pyjamas and tipping his hat far back on his head for a change, “I’m going out for a walk. Hastur, get yourself to bed and don’t wait up for me.”

“Very good, sir.”

Crowley descended the front steps, walked two hundred yards north and crossed the road. He had often walked down this street before, but never feeling like this. His heart raced and the pavement felt like it was tilting away under his feet. Sweet-smelling lilac trees flanked the road, and a lark twittered and whistled somewhere nearby. Soft golden light poured out onto the street from the windows and doorways of every home. Somehow tonight everything seemed more enchanted than usual, as if the sting of their argument had heightened each of Crowley’s senses. No lilac blossoms were this overpoweringly fragrant, no larks sang so sweet, no light was so golden in any other part of town. Crowley wouldn’t let it be.

Crowley found himself outside Aziraphale’s large town house and his heart slammed against his sternum. He felt like he was floating or maybe falling, a great towering feeling knowing he was feet away from where he wanted so desperately to be.

He ascended the three front steps and knocked decisively on the door. The wait was agonising. He was about to sit down when Miss Tracy opened the door. She was giving Crowley a withering look, “Yes, sir?”

“Is Lord Fell in?”

“Yes, sir,” she folded her arms.

“Please can you tell him I’m here?”

She fixed him under her long eyelashes and one sharp finger, “You listen here, Mr Crowley, you’ve really upset him this time.”

“Oh, Miss Tracy, this happens all the time. We’ll patch things over, you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” she turned her nose up and shut the door.

Crowley sighed and moved back down onto the street, hanging off of the railings outside the house and turning his face towards that soft, warm glow from Aziraphale’s study. A couple across the street stared at him as they passed, as did the man lighting the streetlamps, a pair of children whispering to each other as they disappeared into a house. But Crowley paid them no heed, unbothered by their presence. There was only one pair of eyes he wanted on him right now, staring at him, laughing at him, rolling towards the heavens at him; only one mouth reprimanding him, debating with him, teasing him, praising him. One person in all the world. There was nowhere else on earth he would rather be than here, if this was as close as he could get to him.

The front door creaked open again and Crowley bounded back up the steps, whipping his hat off and clutching it in his hands, his eyebrows meeting in an expression of hope.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

His face dropped. Miss Tracy continued, “That is, he doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“No one at all? No even his oldest friend?”

“No. Not until after the ball.”

“The ball?! But that’s… that’s six days away!”

Miss Tracy shrugged and went to close the door. Crowley slammed his hand against it, holding it open a moment longer.

“Tell him I’ll wait.”

“But Mr Crowley, you can’t wait all night.”

“No,” he addressed the floor before stepping back to look up towards the study window, “Tell him I’ll wait six days.”

“Mr Crowley!”

“Tell him I’ll wait six years if I have to.”

Miss Tracy shook her head and closed the door. Crowley watched the lit window with an unflinching gaze. Let him stay up there for six days, six years. Let him stay there for six thousand years. Let the time go by. Crowley would stay right here on the street, waiting, until he was old and grey and all he could remember was Aziraphale.

A shadow appeared in the window and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. The figure stayed for a moment, an unmistakable dark outline of hope against the curtains. Crowley would have prayed if he had any idea who to pray to for this miracle. _Please open the curtains. Please open the window. Please see that I’m here and know that whatever I did, whatever I said, I’m sorry. Please just come with me and we can start over._

The shadow moved away, the window brightening again for a few precious, heart-lifting moments as Crowley wondered if maybe, just maybe his prayers were answered and a figure in cream would open the door this time.

The light in the study went out. The door remained closed. Crowley’s heart sank like a lead balloon into his stomach. He sat down on the steps, turning his hat in his hands.

***

Aziraphale came back to the curtains and moved them aside a centimetre to look back out. The tall figure was now small, curled in on himself on the front steps. His face turned up towards the window and Aziraphale jumped back, but not before catching sight of the expression on Crowley’s face. His heart jolted against his sternum and ached keenly. Tears stung his eyes and he knelt down, pressing his face into the velvet drapes to dampen the sound of his shaking breath.

***

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and placing the hat on his head. Perhaps there were better ways to convince Aziraphale he was sorry than loitering outside for several millennia in his pyjamas. Tipping the brim of his hat down to the right, he stood, marching decisively to the other side of the street and southwards.

He closed the front door gently, shrugging off his jacket and hat and retying his brocade dressing gown. As the kettle came to a whistling boil on the stove, Crowley’s mind raced. Six days. If he could somehow get the children to a passable point in six days, if he could present them alone the Embassy ball… would it finally prove to Aziraphale that he himself was enough? He sighed and stirred his tea. It would be a nightmare. The children needed months of work, not days.

Making his way back across the entrance hall towards the parlour with a cup of coffee, he paused and cocked his head. There was faint chatter upstairs. Irritated, he tiptoed upstairs and spotted light beneath his bedroom door. Grumbling, he reached forwards to push the door open, but paused as he heard hushed voices.

“What I’m saying, Pepper, is we have to work on this!”

“_Have,_” Crowley whispered, smiling at the pronounced H at the start of the word. Adam was remembering. The vowels sounded halfway there too.

“This is what we came here for in the first place wasn’t it,” Adam continued, the H on ‘here’ and the T on the end of ‘it’, “Not only to find a room but to better ourselves so we didn’t have to _keep_ finding rooms – so we could afford one or be respectable enough for a family! And now look what we’ve done by acting disrespectable and rude – we’ve broken up a lovely happy couple.”

Crowley buried his purple face in his elbow as he choked. Dog growled softly but Adam carried on, decisively, “We’ve _got_ to be perfect at that ball so Lord Fell will take Mr Crowley back.”

“But what if Mr Crowley is too upset to take Lord Fell back?” Wensleydale asked.

“That’ll never happen, have you seen the way he looks at him?” Pepper answered.

There were affirmative murmurs and Crowley’s heart juddered in his chest with embarrassment. Kids really never missed a trick.

“Ok, so our plan is to get our rest in tonight and start first thing in the morning. Wensleydale, you’ll wake us?”

“I always wake with the sunrise,” came the chirpy response.

“Perfect. We’ll begin then.”

Crowley dove down the stairs and loitered in the shadows, listening to three pairs of feet shuffling along carpet and four doors gently closing. He felt a grin spread across his face. They might just show Aziraphale yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all got a bit Gatsby at the beginning there didn't it. Poor Crowley. Poor Aziraphale. Can the Them fix it?? We'll find out soon...


	8. Don't Say How Much, Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the Embassy Ball arrives, and Anathema accompanies her nervous guardian, Lord Fell. Will Crowley and the Them show up?

“LORD AZIRAPHALE FELL, AND MISS ANATHEMA DEVICE!”

The pair descended the grand staircase arm in arm, a nervous smile stretched across the Lord’s face. The assembly at the Embassy Ball turned to observe those entering. Aziraphale’s heart skipped with all those eyes on them, and he almost missed a step, caught just in time by Anathema at his side.

“Breathe, Aziraphale.”

“This was a _terrible _idea.”

“Nonsense,” Anathema whispered through her fake smile, “You’ve done nothing but mope in the house all week listening to the recordings of the children. I know you miss them – I miss them too – but it’s no use worrying about them tonight.”

“The Them,” Aziraphale corrected quietly, "I’d just… well, I’d grown accustomed to them being around. Their faces, their voices.”

Anathema genuinely smiled a little, “It will do you good to get out and actually speak to people.”

“I’ve spoken to you and Miss Tracy.”

“Barked at us. You needed a change of scene. Socialise a little. Loosen up.”

“But what if Crowley is - ”

“Hush. Here’s Lady Uriel, say hello, she organised this whole thing, remember.”

He turned to greet the stern lady, who curtsied sharply, “Lord Fell, Miss Device, how are you? I expected to see you with your new _fiancée_, Professor?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale faltered, “Oh, um I – that is she - ”

Anathema placed a hand gently on his arm and leaned forwards, “Lady Young had to return to Scotland suddenly. Her mother took ill. She was very sad to miss the event of the year.”

Lady Uriel smiled, flattered, and nodded politely, turning to greet the next guests as they dismissed themselves. They made their way about the large white hall, greeting old acquaintances. Aziraphale spotted an aperitif tray and gathered a less than polite amount of salmon mousse crackers, stuffing them all nervously into his mouth at once. Anathema gave him a look and linked their arms, continuing their tour of the assembly. The men were all alike in smart black tuxedos, the women a shimmer of pastel colours draped in glistening jewels. From the adjoining ballroom they could hear the band playing a waltz over the hum of soft voices.

“Sounds like Strauss,” Aziraphale said, beginning to relax and smile. Perhaps the night would go smoothly, another uneventful evening on the social calendar. Another aperitif tray passed and Aziraphale took just one cracker this time, savouring the taste.

The hush of the crowd pulled Aziraphale from his reverie, and he turned to look in the same direction as Anathema, who was grinning widely. The announcer cleared his throat, addressing the assembly.

“LADY ASHTORETH YOUNG, OF THE SOUTH DOWN YOUNGS, HEIRESS TO THE PAISLEY ESTATE!”

Crowley was breath-taking. Her hair was swept up in an extravagant, flattering style, sprinkled with jewels. Her floor-length oxblood red gown shimmered as she walked, giving the illusion she was gliding, and hundreds of red gems glittered around her neck descending to her décolletage. Aziraphale choked and turned away for a moment, coughing and spluttering.

“Aziraphale!” Anathema whispered, grabbing his arm and squeezing, “Look at the kids!!” Looking back through watery eyes Aziraphale’s mouth fell open at the sight of the four children.

“MASTER ADAM YOUNG, HEIR OF THE SOUTH DOWN YOUNG’S ESTATE!”

Adam descended the stairs to take Crowley’s outstretched gloved hand. He was in a custom-made suit, perfectly fitted, an oxblood rose tucked into his buttonhole, and his wild curls had been tamed into a cherubic halo of golden hair, framing his flush face and making his big eyes look brighter and somehow even more youthful.

“ – AND HIS COMPANIONS: PRINCESS PIPPIN GALADRIEL OF TADDESFIELD, DUKE JEREMY OF THE OXFORDSHIRE WENSLEYDALES, AND BARON BRIAN NEAPOLITA OF BOLOGNA”

The rest of the Them floated down the stairs, hand in hand, posture exquisite, expressions serene. Pepper was in a gold dress with less shimmer than Crowley’s, and far more avant-garde in style, and the boys were in matching suits with white roses.

“They look amazing!” Anathema smiled. Aziraphale gasped, only now realising he had been holding his breath.

They watched as the group made their way slowly about the stunned assembly, enchanting everyone they encountered, leaving groups whispering speculations in their wake, which gradually reached Aziraphale and Anathema’s neighbours.

_"What a vision! I hear the Paisley estate earns £50,000 a year! Quite the catch."_

_"Such enchanting wards, what a generous woman bringing them along, so well behaved!"_

_"I saw her dress at the Queen’s dressmakers, a reject of the Princess Royal’s, can you believe. She must be from old money to be clientele there."_

_"Did you know Master Adam is set to inherit the entire Young estate in England?"_

_"Oh yes, I’ve been to Taddesfield. Beautiful country. Just north of Croatia I believe."_

_"Wait, wasn’t Lady Ashtoreth engaged to Lord Fell?"_

Colonel Gabriel sidled up to the pair, an eyebrow quirked, “Quite the stir, your _acquaintances _are causing,” the Colonel drawled, “Wouldn’t you say? I’d heard she’d gone back to Scotland _without _you, Fell.”

“We, uh, we weren’t certain…if she could…her mother you see, and…” Aziraphale was lost for words, unable to take his eyes off the vision in red.

“Really, I would have thought you were above such malicious gossip,” Anathema said sharply, looking the Colonel up and down, “And that’s _Lord _Fell to you, you old goat!” Anathema snapped, sweeping Aziraphale away.

“Anathema!!” Aziraphale whined, as the brazen girl steered him across the room, “You can’t call the Colonel a goat!”

“I swear, if you worry over that nosey old bastard’s opinion once more, I’m going to tell Miss Tracy not to make you any more Victoria sponge cake for a month. You outrank him! You’re _higher _society than him!”

“But he has _connections_!”

“You’re about to have a connection right now.” She shoved Aziraphale forward, and he almost fell headlong into Crowley. Stopping himself just in time, he stood tall, straightening his jacket. Crowley’s expression was guarded. Aziraphale bowed, “Cr- _Lady _Ashtoreth.”

“Lord Fell, what a charming surprise,” she curtsied low, her dulcet Scottish tones washing over him and making Aziraphale’s spine tingle. “Miss Device,” the goddess in red dipped her head and extended a hand to Anathema, who took it and curtsied in turn.

“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Lady Ashtoreth,” Anathema replied, rising. Crowley’s amber eyes flicked briefly back to Aziraphale as she said softly, “The children have missed you both.”

Aziraphale turned to the Them, expecting an emotional onslaught. Instead, Wensleydale and Brian bowed, and Pepper curtsied perfectly. Adam bowed low before extending a hand. Aziraphale shook it, finding the young boy’s handshake firm and confident. “It is a fine evening, is it not Lord Fell,” Master Adam smiled.

“Quite, what a charming spectacle,” Baron Brian added.

“The architecture is _most _aesthetically pleasing,” Duke Wensleydale mused, examining the room.

“The dancing looks wonderfully entertaining,” Princess Pepper said decidedly, offering Aziraphale her hand.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied, stunned, taking Pepper’s hand. Crowley smirked, watching the young girl lead the astounded man to the dance floor. They completed a foxtrot and a gavotte with exquisite precision, and Adam and Crowley joined them for a waltz. As they span past each other on the floor, Adam and Pepper vanished, disappearing around the pair and shoving them together, before dancing off to the edge of the floor to stand and watch. Brian and Wensleydale had joined them, along with Anathema, who was delicately holding a platter of marzipan fruits which the foursome carefully shared.

Aziraphale span them slowly around, his arm light about Crowley’s glittering waist, her gloved hand tentative on his shoulder. Her amber eyes gazed, unflinching, into his ocean-blue ones. A nervousness flittering in his stomach, he tipped his head down to hide his blush, glancing across at the children.

“You were wrong then, Lady Ashtoreth,” he said mock-curtly.

“My Lord?” Crowley asked, making Aziraphale’s heart skip.

“You were wrong about the children.”

“How so?”

“It seems nature can be outdone by nurture. From the _right _source, of course,” Aziraphale said, and it sounded like an acquiescence as he met Crowley’s gaze again.

Crowley looked fondly at the children as they span past them, a smile finally forming on her dark lips, “You seem to be correct, Lord Fell. I suppose that means you win our bet.”

“Meaning you owe me a favour.”

“Whatever you desire, my Lord.”

Aziraphale tripped and stumbled on the edge of Crowley’s dress. Crowley chuckled, scooping the soft man up in her arms and leading him around the floor as the song drew to its climax and close. As those watching on the edge applauded the dancers, and many couples prepared for the next song, Aziraphale and Crowley wandered arm in arm out onto the terrace, content to see Anathema was keeping the children entertained.

“You do look lovely, Crowley. And… and so do the children.”

“Thank you,” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale tilted his head at Crowley’s expression, and as their eyes met they both began to laugh. “How on earth did you do it??” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Honestly, I’ve barely slept all week and neither have they.”

“Oh, good Heavens, Crowley!”

“Hastur was surprisingly helpful.”

“Really??”

As their laughter died down, they stood quietly for a few moments. Then Aziraphale frowned. “The ‘South Down Youngs’?” he queried.

Crowley shrugged, the jewels at her throat sparkling in the moonlight as she moved, “I mean, I always wanted to move there. Start over. I hear it’s a beautiful part of the country.”

“I always did want a country estate. Wouldn’t want to move all that way on my own though…” Aziraphale mused, in such a teasing and promising tone that Crowley smirked next to him and gave him a playful shove with her hip. Aziraphale’s hand closed over Crowley’s gloved one on the wall, and they stood together for a long time in silence, gazing up at the stars.


	9. Epilogue: Second Nature To Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is settled into the South Downs Estate (even Hastur), with the Them playing in the orchard and our ineffable duo finally together enjoying an almost peaceful picnic.

Adam plucked the apples off the tree, balancing on the branch as he threw them down to his friends waiting below. Pepper caught two and waited as Adam shimmied back down, jumping the last three feet to the ground. They sat with their backs against the trunk, happily eating the fresh autumn fruit in the last of the summer warmth. Adam bit off a couple of pieces for Dog, who licked them suspiciously before gobbling them down.

“This is paradise,” Adam sighed, satisfied, lounging in the dappled sunlight under the tree, “No more running, no more stealing, no more begging for a room.”

“We found a room alright,” Pepper smiled.

“I think we found more than that,” Adam grinned, looking at their adoptive guardians across the lawn, lying on a picnic blanket.

“Just think,” Pepper mused, “We’d have given our right arms for this much food three months ago.”

“I’d have given my head,” Brian laughed.

“You couldn’t eat it without a head,” Wensleydale teased, throwing his finished apple core at Brian.

“Oh! That’s it!!” Brian scrambled to his feet and sprinted after Wensleydale, who was already a way ahead disappearing into the brambles.

Crowley lay back on the picnic blanket, watching the clouds float past in the blue sky. “I swear the sky was never this blue in London.”

“It probably wasn’t through the pollution haze,” Aziraphale replied, debating whether to have another pork pie or whether to try one of the chocolates, murmuring, “Oh, I can’t decide…”

“Here,” Crowley said, sitting up, “Close your eyes.” Aziraphale obliged and Crowley scooped up one of the small jam tarts he had made, “Let me tempt you to one of these.” He slipped it into Aziraphale’s open mouth, and he moaned at the taste. Crowley chuckled and laid back down, satisfied. Aziraphale’s hand found his on his chest, lacing their fingers together. Crowley closed his eyes and basked in the warm golden sunlight.

The peace was soon broken as four shrieking children and a barking dog flew past, pelting each other with blackberries. Hastur picked the wrong moment to appear at the French doors with the laundry to hang out, and was pelted with berries, large purple-red stains appearing on his shirt and the freshly washed sheets. The children cackled and disappeared off across the grounds, Dog running circles around them. Hastur moped back into the shadow of the house to rewash the sheets.

Crowley, who had sat up a little to watch, turned to Aziraphale with some anxiety, waiting for the serious man to chastise the children. Instead Aziraphale began to laugh, heartily, and he laid down on the blanket next to Crowley, leaning their heads together.

“This is wonderful, dear boy. Let’s never go back.”

“Mmmm.”

“Now, where the devil are those delicious tarts you made?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end!!! I had SO much fun writing this and I really hope you've enjoyed reading it! Thank you so much for stopping by! Comments are always appreciated. Have a wonderful day <3


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